


hard act to follow

by frantastic (perfect_little_fool)



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Insecurity, Lawyer!tom, Lots of blushing, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sarcasm, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/frantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot has this thing where she doesn't cry, swears like a sailor, and likes to stay at home listening to records.</p><p>Tom has this thing where he really wants to see what the deal is with the girl who lives in the cottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was one of those days for Elliot. One of those days where a nice blue bird singing outside her window would prompt her to purchase a firearm. Or one of those days where an overly-enthused woman in a commercial on the television would make her unplug the set from her wall and chuck it outside. 

One of those days where everything was too much, too annoying, and too overwhelming.

Which, recently, seemed to be every day for her.

And after the day she’s had (not only having her boss hit on her for about the eighteenth time this week, but finding out her favorite TV show that didn’t involve supernatural elements got _fucking cancelled_ ) she could go for a pack of Oreos and the best beer twenty-seven dollars could buy her. And since she was too lazy to drive out from her cottage into town to use a legitimate shop, she was forced to settle for the diesel station five minutes from her driveway. 

Which would be just fine if _everyone in fucking New York hadn’t also decided to go out for some Oreos and beer_. Not to say that’s what everyone at the gas station was there to purchase, but the line was as inconvenient as it could be for a convenience store.

Her green eyes immediately hone in on the alcohol section in the back, feet moving forward on their own accord at the prospect of drinking her stupid-ass day away.

After grabbing an ice-cold six-pack and her dark blue package of cream-stuffed cookies, she was ready to flush her health down the toilet while listening to Billy Joel on repeat. The fact that this was how she was to spend her perfectly good Friday night almost made a tear come to her eye— _almost_ —but that wasn’t enough to soak up her Sahara-dry ducts. She stops at the end of the line to pay, right behind a tall lad with a great ass and what looked like a black portfolio in one hand and a to-go coffee in the other.

With not much else to focus on (unless she looked to the right and flipped through a rated XXX magazine) she takes the time to scan over this man whose back was to her. She noticed neatly-rowed copper curls on his head, ones that looked soft enough to sleep upon like a downy pillow. The back of his head was about the same as the top of it, gracefully curving into a long, elegant neck.

Elliot never thought she would describe a neck as elegant, but that was only word that came to mind.

His shoulders were perfectly postured so he stood straight as can be, with long wiry arms that weren’t so beefy it seemed as if he took performance-enhancing drugs. His muscle mass seemed just perfect for his looming height and his torso was covered in a long black coat with the collar popped to shield him against the cold. His legs were long and _lean, lean, lean_ , so lean that she had to lick her lips to bring saliva back to her mouth. His gray dress pants showed off just exactly what a girl wanted to see—that, once again, great ass and legs shaped so delightfully she squirmed where she stood.

Granted, she had been sitting at home prior to coming here, but she felt unbelievably underdressed behind this gentleman. He must be either going to the office or coming back from it, judging by his half-suit appearance, but she suddenly cast her eyes down in insecurity at her black yoga capris, red hoodie over her Doctor Who tank top, and filthy boots she wore to practically everything other than work. She breathes out a sigh at herself.

“Sorry?” Her head snaps up at the voice, mouth gaping when she realizes it was the man ahead of her. “Did you say something?” _He’s fucking British._

Words left her as she took a good look at his face rather than his shoulder blades. Have you ever seen a person so strikingly good-looking that you want to curse God for creating such a creature? Elliot began throwing all the expletives that came to mind toward the heavens because this guy was too attractive for it to be legal.

She takes a deep breath, trying to ignore that sharp jawline and eyes that practically stabbed her forehead, in order to speak to him. When nothing is conjured up the first time, she tries again with a large inhale.

“Uhm.”

Hand, meet face. Elliot’s first time attempting to make a good first impression in front of a ridiculously gorgeous man and that was what decided to spew out of her shaking lips. A masterpiece, genius, profound uttering. Fucking _UHM_.

And to her absolute horror, he lets out a small chuckle with a big white smile that showed off just how straight his teeth were. “Hate to repeat myself but, sorry?”

Her head shakes, her body finally rebooting so she wouldn’t make a complete ass out of herself anymore. “Uh,” _what is wrong with you, fucking hell Elliot_ , “no, no, I didn’t say anything.” She swallows as he just nods. The man gives her another smile before he goes to turn back around. Her heart gives at the thought—she wanted to keep this guy talking. For whatever reason. “I, I had just sighed because I realized I looked as if I just rolled out of bed.”

_What?_ Who on God’s green earth actually says that to a stranger they just met not thirty seconds ago? This was why she was always grounded as a child—she shouldn’t be let out of the house. 

And yet another reason not to have opened her big fat mouth, he took the time to asses her attire, starting from her messily-made bun on the top of her head, down to her ghastly pale face and her clothing choice that was the exact opposite of his. When he moved his eyes off of her scuffed boots back to her face, he gives a small, wry smile. It wasn’t one of pity but one that was obvious he was amused. “I think you look perfectly lovely for an outing to a convenience store.” 

Heart, meet throat. She gasps for words, feeling a mad blush take over her once bare cheeks. 

“That’s—” her pulse makes her stop, feeling it beat at her neck too viciously. “That’s very kind of you. Thanks.” Just saying mere words to him made her throat run as dry as sand. 

He nods. “My pleasure.” 

As the man goes to turn again, she can’t help the words spewing out of her mouth. She needed to _keep him talking_. At least, until he got up to the register after the three people before him were finished. “May I ask why you are dressed to nines?” ‘To the nines’? _Really?_ “It just seems a little out of place at a, uh, a gas station.” 

That smile is blinding her again, his arm shifting up so he may take a sip from his coffee. As he did, he kept his eyes locked on hers, her breath holding as he purses his lips and drinks. Her chest shook as he continues to not look away after a couple of seconds. Who is this guy? 

He finishes his sip, bringing the to-go cup back to his side. “I just returned from the office, darling. I have a long night of work ahead of me—just thought I should pick up some caffeine along the way.” 

“You live around here? Or back in the city?” 

His head cocks to the side, the corners of his lips lifting up. He wasn’t mocking her in any way, but she felt as if he were peeved at the out-of-nowhere question. At least just a little bit. “What an odd question to ask a man you met just five minutes ago.” 

She blushes and looks away. “I was just wondering because I came here rather than a shop in town because my cottage is minutes away. I was wondering if your situation was the same.” 

Good God, she was saying anything to keep this guy talking. What the hell is her problem? 

“You are inquisitive.” His tone was strangely poetic, as if he were making every sentence and phrase a lyric. It was hypnotic. And a hell of a turn on. “I like inquisitive.” Butterflies, meet stomach. “No—I have a flat in the city. My firm is the opposite way of my home from here, so I pass by this place every night I get off. Every once in a while I stop in for a cuppa or two.” He takes another sip, keeping those persuading eyes on hers again. “Now that I have shared too much of me, it’s your turn.” 

Her eyebrows raise high. "Pardon?" 

“You live around here?” he repeats her previous wonder. “Or back in the city?” 

Her red blush was practically permanently stained on her face. But she clears her throat and moves forward. “Like I said before, my cottage is minutes away. It’s a little place my dad built for my mom for their honeymoon and they gave it to me when I moved out after graduation. I don’t have neighbors and I prefer going to places like this rather than into the city since it’s quieter. More peaceful.” She looks away, realizing she had rambled a bit about herself. But she finishes anyway. “Like my cottage.” 

“No neighbors? Sounds awfully lonely.” His voice now took on one of curiosity, a hitch to it that wasn’t there moments prior. 

Elliot shakes her head in objection. “Not really. I get enough social interaction from work and my small group of friends.” _Friend_ , she should say. “And I can blast Billy Joel as loud as I’d like. There’s no downside to that.” 

He laughs, one that was full and boisterous. The first she’d heard from him. “Understandable.” 

A silence overtook them then. It bordered on uncomfortable before the man was called up to the register next. He pauses, looks at Elliot, giving another grin. “What’s your name, love? Before we part ways, never to see each other again.” 

Her heart skipped a beat at _love_. She could get used to men calling her that. “Elliot.” 

A hand, one with long fingers and a gently curved palm, reaches out to push a fly-away hair from her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Elliot. I’m Tom.” He looks back toward the check-out counter. “Have a nice night.” 

She felt numb as he turned around for good this time, walking with a long, strutting gait up to the register. She barely pays attention as he pays, standing there a bit longer than she had expected, before giving her one last fleeting look, a smile, then disappearing from the gas station. Her breath returns to her in a sucking motion, almost like a vacuum turning on for the first time. She has to compose herself and calm her overactive imagination down before stepping up to the register. 

“Just this,” she murmurs, setting the Oreos and beer down on the counter and going for her wallet. 

“I know,” the cashier says in an overly bored tone. Her pink bubblegum blows into a bubble before she pops it with her teeth and sucks it back into her mouth. “Your friend who was in front of you in line paid for your things. And he told me to give you this.” She slides a card to Elliot, who stayed dumbfounded in front of the granite, barely looking at the tiny white card. 

“Wait…that…that man…paid for my things?” her heart stops beating for what felt like a good five seconds. 

The cashier nods slowly, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Now could you take the card, your belongings, and your jaw off the floor and get out of my line? If you haven’t noticed I have a lot of people to get through.” 

Elliot nods hastily, grabbing her cookies and alcohol, the card Tom left, and her dignity before racing out of the small store. Once walking back to her cottage, almost-melted snow crunching under her boots, she digs the card out of her hoodie pocket and brings it right up to her face. She squints, her vision finally being nice and zeroing in on what it read. 

_Thomas William Hiddleston, esq._

His name, and apparent lawyer title, was followed by an address and phone number. Elliot swallows as she practically runs into a stop sign. Who is this guy? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave any sort of feedback. Even if it's to tell me I absolutely suck at writing fanfiction. Lots of love to whoever reads, even if it's just a sentence or paragraph xx


	2. Chapter 2

Temptation is a fruit that Elliot has had the taste of too often. The sweet tang of giving _in_ to temptation, however? Not something she’s let slip onto her tongue.

A good-looking man (more like God-looking man—since this guy had to have come from Mount Olympus or something with that face) had finally shown some sort of interest in Elliot after who knows how many years of passing by men on the street who never even blinked in her direction. And this one might not even be _romantically_ interested in her for Pete’s sake! But, still, she had not given in.

Not that she didn’t want to or felt tempted to about five thousand times. She had shoved the white business card into her junk drawer the minute she got back to the cottage after leaving the gas station and snapped open a beer before chugging half of it down in one go. The rest of that Friday night her eyes would travel mindlessly over to the closed drawer, sometimes her body tensing as if she were going to go over to it. But every time she stopped herself and stayed where she was across the house in the living room. 

It’s not like she wasn’t interested in getting to know the man like he was with her. Oh God no, not at all. Her problem was that it felt too simple, too easy. 

How can she not be hesitant to call up a man she’d spoken to for maybe seven minutes in a line at a gas station? All she knew was his name, that he lived in the city, was a lawyer, and had the most fit ass she’d ever laid eyes on. 

That’s not much to go off of. He may have been quite the gentleman, nothing but polite and respectable, but it was hard not to falter every time she went back to that drawer for the next three weeks. Her fingers would stop just inches from opening it, looking at the card, and calling him. Then the equivalent of a cold bucket of water would hit her in the face. She couldn’t call him. She wasn’t one to just go find random men to go out on dates with. 

So Elliot put the idea to rest and settled with the fact that she would never see that overly-attractive man again in her life a mere three weeks after seeing him.

New York is a big, over-populated state. There was a very little chance she’d run into him again.

—

“Fuck!”

Elliot reaches down and gently prods at her right shin, whispering another cuss word at the sensitive spot quickly forming. Stupid fucking dresser with it’s stupid fucking edges hitting her in the fucking leg whenever she was in a hurry. Bullshit that dresser was small enough to fit comfortably between her bedroom and bathroom door. _Note to self: Measure the expanse of the wall next time so you don’t have three inches of your wardrobe sticking out like a death trap every time you finish peeing._

One of these days, she was going to take a piss in the middle of the night and cut her whole fucking leg open from running into that damn too-wide dresser. 

Fucking IKEA.

Elliot finds herself in front of her mirror again, hands smoothing over her brown hair in its chignon. She was having dinner with a colleague (stress on the word _colleague_ ) to discuss a possible promotion in her future. At the middle school she worked at, Tompkins Square, she used to be buddies with the Assistant Principal before he had been offered the Dean position at Townsend Harris High School. After working there for a year, with Leroy and Elliot staying in touch, he called her up with a job proposition as the new Creative Writing and English Literature teacher at his school. Only one teacher was required for each of those classes and the previous person who filled the role recently left—and apparently, Elliot was the number one person on his list of people to fill the newly vacant spot. 

She loved her job at Tompkins Square as head of the English department, she really did, but dealing with twelve and thirteen year old kids just hitting puberty was not something she hoped to be doing in five years. So she immediately jumped at the idea of moving up to the high school side of things, which is something she’d already been qualified to do after finishing her Masters just two years ago. 

Leroy didn’t want to do a formal interview just yet though. He called with the hope they could just have dinner first so he could talk to her, friend to friend, about her opinion of the job and her qualifications. Obviously, she knew this was because Leroy had her back since they’ve been friends for a little over three years now, and wanted to make sure she was ready before going into the hearing before the school board to see if she’d get the position. She was unbelievably grateful she knew someone to help her with this—when it came to her career choice, she was still somewhat of a bird learning to fly.

Her phone is ringing just as she was popping her cheap twenty-five dollar stud earrings in. She quickly grabs at it and presses speaker so she could finish what she’d already started. “Yes, Thea?”

The over-exaggerative redhead gives a _hmmph_ at Elliot’s impatient sounding tone. “I think I left my jacket at your place since you were ushering me out of the house so quickly. I know I was there just ten minutes ago, but could you check? It's my favorite leather one.”

Elliot gives a sigh to mess with her best friend. “Thea, you can survive a day without it. I have to leave in less than three minutes to make this dinner. Important for my future, remember?”

Another huff. “I know! I was the one who did your important-for-your-future chignon, remember?” She mocks Elliot’s dry questioning with her last sentence.

A smile plays at the brunette’s lips as she slides on her own long black coat to match with her simple black dress, grabbing the gold clutch she was borrowing from Thea as she sticks the phone between her ear and shoulder after taking the call off of speaker phone. “Then you understand that your jacket is not my number one priority right now.”

“My number one priority is the fact that if you get this job, you’ll be leaving me to deal with pubescent children and Keller all by my lonesome.” Elliot is walking briskly out of her house, shutting her cottage door behind her and swiftly locking it up. “Okay, the children I can handle. But Keller? That guy bounces between hitting on each female teacher so much I think I might get whiplash one of these days.”

“Exhibit A as to why this new job offer is exactly what I need.” Thea agrees with a low grumble. Elliot chuckles. “Come on, Althea Hardman. You are the best damn Biology teacher at that middle school and everyone knows you can hold your own against our sleazy principal. You’ll do fine without me.”

Thea gives a snort. “Obviously. You’re just the only other staff member at Tompkins that I get along with.” Elliot is pulling out of her driveway then, knowing she shouldn’t stay on her phone much longer. “And I know you and Leroy get along but I still feel like there’s something he isn’t telling you. You do know he has to be harboring _some_ sort of feeling for you, right?”

“You think that any man I associate myself with is harboring secret feelings for me.”

“And usually I tend to be right!”

“When are you _ever_ right about that?” Elliot insists incredulously as she turns onto the main road that leads to the city. She kisses the trees and emptiness of her small cottage area goodbye and braces herself for the noise and annoyance the city brings. “Maybe one or two of the guys you claimed had feelings for me _actually_ had feelings for me. Leroy and I are just friends. We’ve even talked about it a few times and agreed we aren’t compatible even in the least bit.”

“Ick,” Thea scoffs in disgust. “What kind of opposite-gender friends actually discuss never dating? That’s so gross I think I feel a tear forming in my eye.”

Elliot rolls her eyes. “Love you, hun, but I’m in my car and would prefer to keep my focus on the road as I drive into the city. I’ll text you with how the dinner goes. See you at work on Monday.”

Thea sighs before the brunette can officially hang up. “Something exciting better happen at this dinner.”

A finger is tapping the _End_ button on her phone as she pulls to a stop at a red light. She checks her make-up one last time in the mirror visor, wincing at her winged eyeliner and red lipstick. Thea had done her hair and make-up for the dinner since Elliot isn’t too well-versed in beauty. Her best friend had insisted on the twenty-year old eyeliner and the dark lip coloring. She did admit she looked good but simultaneously couldn’t wait to get back home and wipe the shit off.

The drive to the restaurant took longer than she’d hoped but still made it in pretty good time. The reservation was for seven and it was currently 7:10 p.m. She breathes a sigh of relief before pushing out of the car, shimmying in her tight dress as she does so so she won’t flash any passerby’s on the way in.

“Hello. I’m here on the reservation for two under Leroy Darwin?”

The maître d gives a wide smile and nods. Elliot knew that being bumped up to Dean Status meant Leroy got a pretty hefty raise, but she didn’t think he would bring her to one of the most glamorous looking eateries she’d ever been to. By far it wasn’t the most upscale or expensive place in New York, but just glancing at the wine menu over the front podium made her heart stop. Hopefully they either went Dutch on this dinner or Leroy would spot her until she could pay him back.

“May I take your coat?” 

She snaps her gaze away from the wine and over to the maître d, who had an arm out, patiently waiting for her to sling her long black coat over it. Elliot clears her throat and nods, producing the jacket within seconds after slipping it off.

Suddenly feeling naked in the skin-showing dress she’d bought on a whim months ago but Thea had forced her to wear tonight, she tucks a brown wisp of hair behind her ear as she waits to be led to her table. The maître d had left to hang her coat up so she was left to stand in front of the reservation book, waiting and awkwardly shifting from heeled-foot to heeled-foot. 

Light chatter was floating overhead from the dining area, feminine laughs and burly exchanges being the soundtrack as she waited, her heart clamoring as she continued to feel more and more like an antique vase in a room full of expensive furniture. 

And, as if by some weird trick from God, she feels a gentle touch on her shoulder.

Her body gives a start as she whips around, her three inch heels almost sweeping out from under her had she not grabbed onto the edge of the podium. The hand holding her clutch zooms up, grasping at her chest as she breathes in and out slowly to calm her racing heart.

“So sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, love.”

Her racing heart clambers to a halt at the spoken words. The British lilt causes her eyes to open, looking up and up into the face of that man. The man from the convenience store. Tom. Tom the _lawyer_.

Her throat scrabbles to find breath and lubrication in order to speak. Elliot chokes on a few words before she finally utters something. “Uhm, no, it’s…uh, it’s okay. I’m just a little, erm, jumpy tonight.” The inconsistent rambling makes her want to scratch her eyes out, but Tom doesn’t seem to mind. He actually produces a little quirky smile at her nervous talk.

“Still, I apologize for not giving you a proper greeting.” And as if he were a gentlemen from medieval times, he gives a slight bow that made her stomach do funny things. Like clench in on itself as a delicious feeling fills it up. “Good evening, Elliot. How are you tonight?”

She has to suck in a large exhale before she can speak again. “I’m just fine.” Thank God. An actual confident-sounding phrase. “And yourself?”

“Quite surprised, actually,” he admits, his eyes taking on a playful squint as he adjusts the cuff links at the ends of his sleeves. That’s when she fully takes in his stunning figure—this man was practically _built_ to wear suits. The delightful feeling in her stomach rolls over again and again. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you or speak to you again. I am a bit pleased that this time _you_ seem a bit more pleased with your appearance. Unless I am wrong and you prefer the boots and Doctor Who shirt?”

He remembered what she’d been wearing that night they first met three weeks ago. Elliot has to refrain from panting like a bitch in heat. _Pull yourself together you fucking moron._

“To be honest, I do prefer the boots and Doctor Who tank top,” she says with what she hoped was a teasing smile. Even when flirting she managed to sound completely unsure. “However, since it’s my wardrobe, my preference doesn’t matter. What’s yours?”

A spark ignites in his eyes just then. As if he knew she were toying with him. A smile like none she’d ever seen before on a man takes shape on his perfectly smooth lips then and her legs practically buckle. But her arm was still weighed on the podium so, thankfully, she stays upright without any noticeable falter. “My preference on your clothes?” his chuckle sounded low and vibrated through her lower stomach. “Your comfort would of course be top priority. But I have to admit,” his eyes shamelessly look her up and down then, the blue gaze hot on her skin, “this number does you justice, Ms. Elliot.”

A swallow runs down her throat without her consent. Her eyes close for the briefest moment at his words before she forces herself to stay strong. “You flatter very well, Mr. Hiddleston,” she teases back, wondering how she was able to remain so calm. “And, if you don’t mind me prying, what are your reasons for being here? I assume you are eating or just finished eating judging by your—” her eyes take him in hungrily then as well, “—attire.”

The flirting was clearly enjoyable to him, but she could tell he was turning it off as he answered her question. But his smile stays on his face. “Business dinner with a firm partner. Just something that’s been a bother that we hope to get rid of soon. And what about you?”

“Business dinner as well,” she replies, not being able to help but lick over her lips once, quickly. Tom’s eyes don’t waiver from hers, but she could see the orbs flicker as if he hoped to watch the movement. Or, she was just making this up in her head since she was so painfully attracted to him right now she couldn’t fucking think straight. “Possible promotion in my future. Here to discuss some things.”

It’s like she couldn’t speak full sentences around him or else she’d melt into the floor. 

Tom goes to respond, his eyes a-light again, but the maître d finally returns, flushed and apologetic for taking so long. The tall man in front of her gives a wide grin. “Another time, my dear Elliot,” he says with a stare showing he meant it. His hand searches for hers, taking it lightly in his as he brushes a chaste kiss across the back of her knuckles. The pulse at her wrist, the one his fingers were pressing into, speeds up like a fucking Nascar car at the climax of a race. “I’m sure you got the card I left for you the last time we saw each other. Did you misplace it? If so I’d be happy to give you a new one.”

Being the stupid fucking asshole she always is, Elliot shakes her head, letting him know she had the card but had yet to put it to use. “No, I still have it. In my drawer. At home.” Her mouth goes dry at her honesty but, once again, Tom goes unfazed. He just gives another earth-shaking smile.

“Hopefully you use it soon,” he says in his soft British tenor.

Then he was gone, waltzing into the dining area without even a glance over the shoulder. Elliot has to take what felt like three years to recover, the beating of her heart slowly diminishing into its normal rhythm after some intense breathing exercises. The maître d touches her forearm gently. 

“Ma’am?” he asks reverently. “Your table and Mr. Darwin are waiting.”

Her eyes couldn’t help but stay where Tom had disappeared. But eventually she arrives out of her coma and turns to the man waiting eagerly to take her to her dinner date. She forces a tight-lipped smile onto her face, thinking of nothing but those long manly legs in dress pants and the almost smirking grin on that handsome face. How she was to focus on a business dinner with that encounter at the fore-front of her brain was beyond her—but she holds her head high, expecting the best.

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the quickest update I've done in years. So don't get used to it. But hey. Another encounter, three weeks later.
> 
> And just as a heads up, where the story is currently is about late-October. The holiday season is upon them very soon. 
> 
> And thank you so much to **SourPotato** for your comment! Nice to know someone was so interested they had to leave some feedback. Such kind words darling, hope you continue to enjoy. Same with all you silent readers! Let's see where this goes xx


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, her one-bed one-bath cottage tended to smell like a musty mix of coffee beans, whatever-season-it-was air, and clean wood. This morning, it smelt like coffee beans, window cleaner, and stress stacked on top of pinched nerves. 

Her fingers itched as she drummed them against the wooden surface of her small dining table. A breath pushes itself past her lips, her steely gaze fixed on the junk drawer beside the sink. 

“This is stupid,” Elliot says aloud to no one, her head shaking as she goes to grip the handle of her coffee mug. “Ridiculous. Dumb.” For an English teacher, such words seemed too trivial for this situation, but they were all her muddled brain could produce after last night. The heat of his hand in hers as he brushed his soft, thin lips across her knuckles, the icy blue eyes that froze her to the very core—all of it was like a dream, or some sort of crude fantasy she had made up in her head. But it wasn’t either of those things; she had really run into the beautiful man from the gas station and actually admitted to ignoring his phone number. 

Her heart clamored up high at the mere thought of such humiliation. 

“I should just call him,” she thinks outward again. “What have I got to lose? Maybe he just wants to be friends.” _Who the fuck am I talking to?_ She shakes her head a second time and sits up straight, placing her hands flat on the table before closing her eyes and releasing a deep, bone-expanding breath. 

Once she had cleared her brain of unnecessary fog, she blinks her eyes back open and finds herself still fixated on the junk drawer. An angry grumble vibrates through her chest. “Oh, for the love of—” She pushes back from the table and vacates her chair, briskly walking to the drawer and pulling it open with a vicious yank. “Let’s just fucking call him and make a huge ass out of ourselves—this isn’t a shit idea, I swear.” Her bitter commentary to herself goes unheard as she smacks the white business card on the counter in front of her telephone, her hand grabbing for the cordless electronic before she could stop herself. Her breathing becomes more labored as she reads over the black numbers and dials without thinking. The phone is then pressed to her ear in what felt like a millisecond.

Elliot counts each ring, if not because she needed to know how long it took for him to answer or because she needed something to reclaim her sanity, knocking her foot against the cabinet below her as her free hand comes up to bump against her forehead uselessly. _What a shit idea._

The ringing stops.

Momentary pause.

Then breathing. “Hello—” Girl’s voice. Elliot feels her palms slicken with sweat. _Fuck, he has a girlfriend hang up hang up hang up_ “—thank you for calling _Pierce & Harold_ law firm.” _Oh, thank the fucking Lord_. “You have reached the number for Mr. Thomas Hiddleston, may I ask what your call is in reference to?” 

He gave her his work number?

Well, it was on a fucking business card. What did Elliot expect?

After a beat too long, she clears her throat and speaks with a shaky voice. “Hi, my name is Elliot Valentine. Is there any way I could speak with, erm, Mr. Hiddleston?” The formality felt sour on her tongue—when she had addressed him as so last night it had been playful and flirtatious. Saying it now felt mocking and ludicrous. 

“If you would hold just one moment please, I’ll see if he’s available.”

“Th—” A lovely waltz-y tune starts to play in Elliot’s ear and she shuts her mouth tight, feeling a cold hand grab her heart and twist. She didn’t know why the abrupt cut-off felt so much like a rejection, but it reminded her that she was about to talk to gorgeous-British-man-from-the-gas-station on the phone. And she hated talking on the phone.

Fuck.

This _was_ a shit idea.

At least ten seconds pass with the fuzzy music playing against the side of her head and, out of nerves and the thought that she was going to fall over from the dizziness that appeared just out of the nowhere, she jumps up and sits on her counter and leans back against the cabinet that held her cups and mugs. Her lids shut and another hard breath is sucked in through her nose. “Just breathe,” she murmurs to herself, bringing a hand up and pinching at the bridge of her nose. “He’s just a human being, like you are. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Nice pep talk.”

Elliot almost drops her phone in surprise, the electronic slipping out of her damp palm and falling toward her lap, but she is surprisingly able to grab it just in time and press it back to her ear hurriedly. 

“You heard that?” she breathes, feeling her cheeks flame in embarrassment. And even though he couldn’t very well see the discomfiture staining her cheeks, she could just tell that the chuckle she heard was toward that blush. “Oh god, I just don’t know when to not stick my foot in my mouth.”

“What a talent, though! You have to have quite the mouth in order to fit that there,” Tom replies cheekily, clearly attempting to cheer her up for her stupid ramblings moments ago. “I wish I could do such a thing. The best I can do is stick in half a fist.”

Not being able to help it, she emits a giggle. A fucking _giggle_. Elliot Valentine does not giggle—she laughs, chuckles, occasionally chortles, but does not giggle.

She ignores this for now, focusing all of her energy on keeping Tom talking. “Well, that’s still impressive. How many hours a day do you practice that so you can try to get better?” She smiles to herself, leaning back against the cabinet once again. The pulse at her neck was practically trying to punch its way past the skin of her throat, and she has to press a finger there and will it to calm itself.

“Hm, I would say about two or three hours. Don’t want to spend too much time, it might get stuck.” She could hear a grin in his voice, making him sound relaxed and easy-going even though he was currently at the office, most likely pouring over some difficult and time-consuming case. Just knowing she was able to distract him for at least a minute made her face get hot all over again. She fans at herself before clearing her throat.

“You said that you hoped I would use the business card you gave me,” she states with a dose of question to her tone, almost as if she were asking him to verify that sentence.

A pause, before he catches on. “Yes, I did say that. And I am glad you took the hint, Elliot.” She has to close her eyes once he speaks her name into her ear—that delightful feeling curls itself into her lower stomach once again. “Even though it did take you three weeks.”

Her mouth goes dry. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, I just, uhm, I—”

His soft laugh cuts her off. “Don’t worry, love. It’s not like you promised to call or gave any other commitment to contact me. I just thought we had a nice time in line that night, so I was hoping you’d phone me a little quicker. But all is right with the world as we are clearly doing so now.”

If it were possible for her heart to speed up anymore, it felt as if it did. 

Tom had been _hoping_ she’d call much sooner—she felt the need to give herself a few shots of adrenaline so she wouldn’t faint right then and there in her own kitchen.

“You have quite the way with words,” Elliot finds herself saying before can she go over the words in her mind, a hand coming up and slapping over her mouth. An intense gratitude overcomes her mental state knowing he couldn’t _see_ the way she was making a fool out of herself, but could only _hear_ it. Which still fucking blew, but it was better than being face to face with him and saying all the stupid shit she was saying now.

“And you have quite the way with saying exactly what’s on your mind,” he rasps out, the sound of papers being shuffled about being heard in the background. It cruelly reminded her that he was at work, not in his home still in his PJ’s like she was. Not everyone had the luxury of not working on Saturday’s like herself. “I like it.” More weird feelings in her abdomen. “Anyway, Ms. Elliot, if you would be so kind as to accept my invitation to have coffee, I would be absolutely filled with bliss.”

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god_

“Coffee?” is all she manages to squeak out at first, her entire body tensing as she realizes the magnitude of this. He was asking her out. On a date. A casual date, but that was better than immediately asking her to be his companion to a fucking ball or something. She has to force herself not to make an elated noise—she would have to wait until after their phone conversation was over. 

Another chuckle. “Yes, Elliot, coffee. It doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything, just two people getting together to talk over caffeine and muffins.”

She feels her shoulders unwind at his ease. He was very good at being nonchalant. “I, uh, yeah. I’d love to have to coffee.” She tries to build up her voice, sound a little more confident, but it sounded too artificial. “When and where? I won’t be available again until Monday at about 4 p.m.”

“I can take a late lunch,” he immediately agrees, the sound of a pen scratching becoming the background noise this time. “And what about the little place right across from the restaurant we both visited last night?”

“Sounds perfect,” she smiles, her chest feeling lighter as they settle into an easier topic of making plans. “Are you sure you want to take a late lunch? I have a lunch hour earlier in the day but it’s a bit short—”

“If it means we have a longer chance to get to know one another, I’m fine with eating a couple hours later than normal,” Tom inputs not to be rude, but to let her know he was happy with moving his break back a bit so they could spend more time together. Her heart practically stops beating. “And may I ask what you’ll be wearing this time? Not to sound like a pervert or anything—” she can’t help but laugh out loud at his English accent trying to tumble over the word _pervert_ , “—but I’d like to know so I can prepare myself for how stunning you look in whatever you ensemble you choose to wear.”

_Holy fucking shit on my grandmother’s grave_. Elliot stares, jaw propped open a bit, at the far wall of her kitchen at his words. She has to shake it off so she could answer him, all the while thinking this man was fucking _unreal_.

“I, uh, I haven’t chosen my outfit for Monday yet,” she admits, trying to not stumble over her speech. “It will be professional, though, since we’ll be meeting up right after I get off work.”

“Hm, if you don’t mind, may I ask where you work?”

Ah, something Elliot could talk about without making a complete and utter dick out of herself. “Tompkins Square Middle School,” she informs him proudly. “I’m the head of the English department and teach six classes a day.”

“I did not peg you as a teacher, to be honest,” Tom says with a gentle tone to his voice, one that emphasized his accent and made her want to close her eyes and cat-nap. “But it sounds like you thoroughly enjoy your job. And that dinner from last night? A promotion, if I remember correctly?”

She smiles. “Yeah! A friend who used to work with me at Tompkins is the Dean over at Townsend Harris High School and is putting in a good word for me to be the next Creative Writing and Literature teacher over there. So I’d not only be doing a different style of teaching for English studies, but I’d also be getting higher pay and better benefits.”

In no way had she meant to spew all of that to a still total-stranger over the phone, but Tom made it so easy to talk to him, almost like he was a good friend rather than just an acquaintance.

“I’m happy for you, Elliot. It sounds like you genuinely want to move up in your field of work, which I commend you for since not a lot of people now-a-days seem to have the strive or work ethic that I think we all should have.” Elliot wanted to run up the nearest mountain and sing to the heavens to thank them for creating this man—he was everything a girl could hope to have. “Is this friend of yours the one you had dinner with last night?”

“Mhm. He gave me some pointers on what to say in the board meeting and such. He’s been a big help, especially since he practically convinced the board to interview me,” she continues, feeling perfectly at ease talking about work. When it came to flirting, that’s when Elliot tended to fall on her face. “Uh, anyway, that’s my job. What about you, Mr. Big-Lawyer-Man?”

His warm chuckle was in her ear again and she closes her eyes, knowing if she had one of those corded telephones that she’d be wrapping her finger up in it like a classic lip-biting girl from the movies. “I absolutely love convicting people for robberies and helping married couples separate from each other for eternity. I’ve been dreaming of doing such a thing since I was just a young lad.” Elliot laughed at the slightly sarcastic tone, knowing he was just joking light-heartedly.

“I feel like that’s what every little boy dreams about,” she retorts back, her lips beginning to hurt from having such a permanent smile on her face from this conversation. “Better than every little girl day dreaming of weddings by putting a pillow case over her head.”

“Oh my God,” Tom laughs out loud, the sound so new but exciting that Elliot felt herself blush. “Did you actually do that, love? I can hardly imagine you walking down your hallway as if it were an aisle.”

“Guilty!” 

They both laugh again, a silence ensuing that Elliot had been dreading since his secretary patched him through. Fucking hell. What does she say now? Does she bring up last night? Does she make some sorry excuse for why she had to suddenly hang up—even though she was a fucking school teacher and obviously doesn’t work on Saturdays? Her jaw hangs up open for a good three seconds before Tom breaks the silence. “Hang on one moment, darling, if you would.” Then she hears the receiver pressed against wood and two voices, one of them being Tom’s.

Her next breath is one of relief. Thank God to whoever just walked into her phone partner’s office since she had no idea where to bring the discussion next. She fiddles with the plug of her coffee machine before she hears the sound of goodbyes and a phone being picked up.

“Elliot?”

“Still here.”

“Good,” he replies with a smile in his voice, one that was evident and made her stomach churn—in a very, _very_ good way. “I actually have to be off now, got to go meet with one of the firm partners about rather boring law stuff.” She has to put a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t giggle at the ridiculous phrase. _Law stuff_. “So, Monday at four?”

She swallows, having forgotten for a brief moment that she was actually going to see this magnificent man face-to-face again. “Monday at four,” she confirms with a shaky voice.

There was a bit more talking (apparently those goodbyes weren’t final seeing as whoever had come in had come _back_ in) before Tom is saying one last thing in her ear, voice dropped low and a soft tone curled throughout. “Dress however you want love, but you do know my preference.” A click, then a quiet beep in her ear signaling the end of the phone call.

Her palms were sweaty and her heart was bumping around behind her rib cage like a fucking bird that couldn’t fly. She presses a hand there, trying to soothe it by taking in deep, deep breaths that she learned from some bullshit yoga video on YouTube. 

“Fucking shit on my uncle’s doorstep,” she yells at no one before hopping down off her counter.

—

“How is he?”

The question always felt so bland, so forced passing from Elliot’s lips. Not that she didn’t mean it, didn’t actually mean to know how he was doing, but she repeated the three words so often—once a week to be exact—that although the sentiment was there, the tone of her voice lacked it.

The same old regular blonde nurse smiles and takes the clipboard back from Elliot who had just used it to sign in. She takes her visitor’s pass before following the nurse down the hallway. “He’s doing beautifully, actually. A whole lot better than three months ago. He’s been taking his pills voluntarily now, which is progress.” They take a turn to the left, the trailing woman counting the footsteps it took to get to his room in her head, just like she always did on her Sunday visits. “He looks forward to these hours with you, you know. He asks about when you’ll be coming back. Constantly.”

Elliot looks up, breaking off her counting to look the blonde nurse in the face. Even though she was the same nurse, the same woman who took care of her father, she never bothered to learn her name. A shame, since she was perfectly lovely and did a wonderful job here. “Because he’s interested in knowing who I am, not because he remembers me.”

The nurse smiles wryly. “Progress.”

That was enough talking with her, Elliot tells herself as they come closer to his room. The blinds were down, meaning he was reading. He didn’t like to read with them open because he claimed that “Any old person could walk in and take me away from all that I know.” All that he knew—after losing a good majority of his memory, all he knew was fucking fictitious lands and characters.

Elliot takes a deep breath to calm herself. The last thing she wanted was to walk in to visit her father and be mad at him for things he couldn’t control.

“Here we are,” the nurse reports as she unlocks the door, pushing it open wide.

The girl pauses at the threshold, swallowing louder than was absolutely necessary, before peering in with just her upper body. 

She finds him immediately, sitting in his bean bag chair by the window, tucked into a corner so he could survey the room _and_ the outside all at one time. He was reading a new book from the one last week, like usual, since he blew through them so quick. This one was one of her favorites, she noticed— _Misery_ , by Stephen King. A classic.

“Mike?” she murmurs, gauging his attention almost instantaneously. His eyes flick up and the moment he sees her his chapped lips break into a wide smile over his pallid, sweaty face.

“Ellen!” he shouts, throwing his arms out to the sides in an excited, enthusiastic gesture. She doesn’t correct his mistake for her name since she knew it wouldn’t do good anyway, having gotten used to him calling her different variations of _Elliot_ since she first started to regularly visit him after he was hospitalized. “You came back! I thought for sure you’d skip out on me since the nurse told me you wouldn’t be back until Sunday and it’s not quite Sunday, just late Saturday!”

She smiles tentatively, stepping into the room with the hesitance of a doe learning to walk for the first time. It was actually Sunday but, like with her name, she doesn’t bother to fix his error. “I would never do such a thing.” Her feet carry her to his corner, stopping a few feet from his bean bag chair. “I like the book you’re reading—it’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s very good,” her father admits, pushing his glasses up on his face before moving the hand up to wipe over his balding head. “Have you cried yet?”

Her throat bites out a bitter laugh, one that echoed back through her ears like a fucking song on repeat. “No, not yet Mike. These eyes haven’t felt moisture in eight years, don’t expect them to start feeling it now.” The sentence was meant to be light-hearted but the cynical part of her had shone through nonetheless.

Her father doesn’t notice. “Sit with me. Let’s read together.”

She does. And she feels her heart sink with every word he utters, down – down – down to the lowest parts of the Earth where her hope for her dad being normal again had gone to a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She called him! Yay! And a little more backstory on Elliot - which will of course be developed as the story continues. I don't see this being more than ten chapters, but sometimes that thought changes as I go more into a story.
> 
> Anyway, I would love to hear to your guys' thoughts on the chapter, whether its on Tom's flirting or Elliot's father. Lovin' the reaction! xx


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